


Anbody Out There

by oopshidaisy, ViolaWay



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Famous Harry, Fanboy Louis, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Ordinary Louis, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 01:11:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopshidaisy/pseuds/oopshidaisy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolaWay/pseuds/ViolaWay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Louis met Harry Styles, he was eight years old. They didn’t really speak. </p><p>Thirteen years later, Louis contemplated how much he regretted the actions of his younger self. Staring blankly at his wall, his eyes fell on his favourite Harry Styles poster, held up with copious amounts of Blu-tack. The green eyes, enlarged as they were, seemed to pierce him, and memories of that wasted opportunity were held in the thousand facets of green there. He liked to convince himself, in moments like these, that he wasn’t obsessed, or anything, because twenty-one year old men did not waste their time on teen pop-stars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anbody Out There

The first time Louis met Harry Styles, he was eight years old. Styles’ aunt lived in Doncaster, in the house next to Louis and his family. It was the summer of ’99, and Louis had planned to wreak havoc with his best friends, not hang around with a six year old who he’d never met before. He and Stan were planning on making a secret hide out.

 

Due to a few changes in scheduling, however, Harry actually arrived shortly before the summer holidays, which meant that he attended Louis’ school for a few short weeks, and followed the older boy around relentlessly throughout this period.

 

They didn’t really speak.

 

Louis told Harry to go away a fair few times. He was annoying, even if he had cute curly hair and big, innocent green eyes. Louis had an image to uphold. He wanted to be one of the cool kids when he went to secondary school in a few years; he couldn’t be seen hanging around with one of the little kids. He tried to be nice about it, though. He didn’t want to make the kid cry, after all; that would just be mean, and Louis wasn’t mean. So Louis gently told his adoring fan that eight years old was practically grown up, and six years old was practically a baby, and that therefore they just couldn’t be friends.

 

Louis’ parents tried to force the two boys into friendship, arranging impromptu visits over the duration of the four weeks, but to no avail. Louis insisted that he was too old to play with Harry Styles, even if his dimples were sweet.

 

Thirteen years later, Louis contemplated how much he regretted the actions of his younger self. Staring blankly at his wall, his eyes fell on his favourite Harry Styles poster, held up with copious amounts of Blu-tack. The green eyes, enlarged as they were, seemed to pierce him, and memories of that wasted opportunity were held in the thousand facets of green there. He liked to convince himself, in moments like these, that he wasn’t obsessed, or anything, because twenty-one year old men did not waste their time on teen pop-stars.

 

It was just sometimes, when Louis was innocently strolling through the magazine aisle in Tesco, the teen mags would advertise ‘FREE HARRY STYLES POSTER’ in sparkly pink bubble writing, and who was Louis to resist such an irresistible offer? He would go home and carefully remove said poster before kindly donating the remainder of ‘Mizz’ or ‘We <3 Pop’ to one of his sisters. He was a great brother, honestly.

 

Occasionally, of course, he would realise that his collection currently consisted of forty-one Harry Styles posters (and maybe there was an ‘I <3 Harry’ bracelet in there somewhere, but Louis never actually wore it) and he might feel a little…well, childish. But the sentiment faded as soon as he watched another interview, listened to Harry’s voice caressing the words he said.

 

The first time Louis met Harry Styles, he screwed it up. He promised himself that if he ever got a second chance, he’d rectify his mistakes.

 

***

 

Harry Styles hated New York. He’d never divulge this information in an interview, or a song, because, as a teen sensation, you had to give off the impression that your life was perfect. However, Harry did not have a perfect life.

 

Far from it.

 

Once you got to a certain point, in terms of being famous, you simply couldn’t live in England anymore. Or at least, this was what Harry had been told. He slightly resented the inference that his home country was inadequate in any way, but it had been indoctrinated into him that he must do anything and everything to advance his career. So he bought an apartment in the city that seemed the most bearable to him, comparatively. Well, he only really had two options, according to his publicist. New York or LA. His choice.

 

New York was lovely for a tourist, Harry supposed. He’d visited himself when he was twelve, and had loved the glittering lights and exaggerated movie-scene atmosphere. Now, though, he stared out of his window at three in the morning, and felt empty. More than that, he felt homesick. Not necessarily for home, even. Just someplace where people saw him as more than a pretty face and brand to make money off of.

 

His apartment was gorgeous, naturally. Exquisitely decorated by an interior designer who was supposedly the best in the business, and a _penthouse apartment_. Some people only dreamed of this, but for the nineteen year old Harry, it was a reality. It was a hollow reality, but reality nonetheless. At least when he looked out of the wide, unopened window, he could feel like he was flying, even as his breath misted the glass.

 

Loneliness ceased to be an issue when he found that no one responded negatively to a minor buying alcohol when they were a celebrity. Some nights he drank until he passed out. Never when he would be working the next day, because if there was one thing he clung to, it was professionalism. But the allure—the comfort—of the alcohol cabinet remained, to be utilized on stormy nights when he still felt afraid, without any welcoming arms to run into.

 

For three months he coped as well as he could, determinedly not responding to the female advances that, quite frankly, repulsed him. This was actually regardless of their gender; he knew that they did not see him as human, merely as an object to be possessed. And, of course, men were off-limits, for his image’s sake.

 

At the end of those agonizing ninety-two days, he requested a break, for just a week or…something. It meant the cancellation of two shows, and the potential disappointment of hundreds, if not thousands, of fans. But the urgency in his tone warranted a little mercy from his handlers, and they let him go, on the condition that he stay out of trouble. Of course he would; he always did.

 

He couldn’t face going home. It would be too much like accepting defeat. His mother, with the best of intentions, reiterated every time he called her that he was overworking himself; that he wouldn’t be able to cope soon enough.

 

Instead, he called his aunt. They hadn’t spoken in years, not since she had fallen out with his mother. She received his call amicably enough, though, apparently not harboring any resentment over that, and even arranged for him to stay with her son, Niall. They’d never met before; the boy had been staying with his father in Ireland the last time Harry had come to visit.

 

“I don’t think you’ll be wanting to stay cooped up with me all week,” she said over the phone. “And Niall’s been dying to meet you, although he’d never admit it.”

 

Harry had smiled involuntarily, the first genuine one in nearly as long as he could remember.

 

“Thanks, Maura,” he said sincerely.

 

***

 

Louis didn’t have many friends, he supposed. Or at least, not many sincere ones. Stan had moved to Scotland a few years back, and although regular emails were still sent and received, they mostly contained news about the weather (which would have been easily accessible through the BBC weather app…and in fact might have been copied and pasted from there).

 

He had Liam, and Zayn, and sometimes Zayn’s boyfriend, Niall. He’d never shared soul-bearing secrets with them, though, so he didn’t really consider them to be _best_ friends (and any secrets Stan possessed had long since lost their value anyway). Louis wouldn’t call himself lonely, exactly; but when he was feeling sad he was more likely to visit his mum than his friends. And any attempts at romantic entanglements had stopped long ago. Too much effort.

 

“So, anyway, mum, I can’t leave Doncaster because my life is here, basically. My source of income and my house and my friends…” He really hated phone conversations with his mother sometimes. They generally ended with him feeling inadequate (however unintentional that was on Jay’s part).

 

“You work in a supermarket, live in rented property, and what was that about friends? When do I get to meet them?”

 

“Oh, ha ha,” Louis replied. “Why did you call me again? Or was it just to make me feel bad about my life?”

 

“I’m not sure I want to tell you, now,” Jay huffed, but Louis could hear her smile.

 

“Go on, you must be dying to,” Louis replied. “You called me at seven am, for crying out loud. You never do that.”

 

“I was talking to Maura the other day—she drives Fizzy to ballet practice now, did I tell you?—and her nephew is visiting next week. Lottie thought you might want to know. She does notice that there’s a mysterious absence of Harry Styles in the magazines you give to her, you know.” Louis could practically hear his mother’s suppressed laughter, and he suppressed his own childish urge to roll his eyes and stamp his foot.

 

Then he realized what she’d said.

 

“Harry Styles…is coming _here_!?” His voice suspiciously rose about three octaves, but he reckoned he could still feign indifference. “I mean…isn’t he going to be mobbed?”

 

“It’s a bit of an open secret. I doubt anyone would be awful enough to ask him for an autograph while he’s on holiday,” Jay said. Louis was once again astonished by his mother’s trust in the human race. “That includes you, Louis. You can talk to him if you want, but no getting him to sign a hundred posters. Remember the cramp you got in your hand when you had to copy out those addresses for me?”

 

“I don’t have a hundred posters…” Louis grumbled sourly.

 

“He’s staying with Niall,” Jay continued. “In case you wanted to know. Even though you obviously don’t.” Louis made a mental note to stop giving Lottie the magazines. Obviously his eldest sister was more devious than he’d previously assumed.

 

“Bye, Mum,” he said. “And…thanks.”

 

***

 

Harry arrived early in the morning on the first day of summer, and it was so reminiscent of the first time he had visited Doncaster that Louis would’ve called it fate…if he was a teenage girl who believed in that kind of thing, that is. As it was, he hid in his bedroom and kept glancing anxiously at the window.

 

Eyes skimming listlessly over the book that he couldn’t for the life of him remember the title of, his fingers twitched with the temptation to just text Niall, to ask the questions that were clamoring for attention in the forefront of his mind. Eventually, he gave up pretending that he wasn’t desperate for just a sight of the pop-star, getting up and slipping on his favourite shoes before making his way over to Niall’s house.

 

It occurred to him that Harry probably encountered desperate fans like him every day. It also crossed his mind that Harry might be straight, despite the camp tendencies that Louis had observed in the very few (thousand) interviews he’d watched. The temptation to chicken out was strong, but he reasoned with himself until he came up with an excuse that couldn’t be easily torn to shreds: He still needed to apologize for what he had done. It had been stupid and mean, even if they had just been kids.

 

So with that in mind, he approached Niall’s house, fully expecting to be turned away on grounds of general creepiness.

 

He knocked on the door before his resolve could abandon him: two brisk raps so that he didn’t seem over-eager, and he had to forcibly stop his foot from tapping with anticipation as he waited for the door to open. After thirteen seconds that he was absolutely not counting, the door swung open to reveal Zayn, which wasn’t really a surprise. Zayn basically lived with Niall, and he was so adoring (or whipped, depending on how you wanted to phrase it) that nine times out of ten he was the gracious host, while Niall lounged on the sofa eating pizza. In his more vindictive moments, Louis had taken to calling Zayn a housewife. The great thing was that Zayn didn’t even care.

 

“Looking for Harry?” Zayn smirked.

 

Louis, ever prepared, had a back-up plan that he had reserved for arrogant assholes intercepting him. He unleashed it with extreme pleasure now, smirking right back at the smug bastard he called a friend.

 

“No, I came to return the Justin Bieber CD that was given to me totally against my will. You know, it doesn’t matter how many times he hides it under my sofa cushion, I’m _never going to listen to it_.” Louis pulled the CD out of his bag as proof, smiling innocently.

 

“Lou, you’re not fooling anyone,” Zayn sighed, but Louis could tell that he was trying not to laugh. “But fine, come on in.”

 

***

 

Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so happy. Niall’s house was small, and cozy, but most noticeably it was messy. Harry’s apartment was permanently impeccable, no matter how hard he tried to make it look lived in. A cleaner visited every day and her efficiency effectively killed any chances he had of making his home look like…well, a home.

 

But this place… Niall wasn’t a slob, exactly, but he was exactly what you would expect of a teenage boy. The kitchen was cluttered and tiny, with junk food making up almost the entire content of the cupboards. They watched bad films on the small TV, eating buttery popcorn and drinking cans of coke. It felt as close to normal as Harry had experienced in a long time. Niall confessed early on that he was a fan, but he wasn’t intrusive or even curious about Harry’s extravagant lifestyle. The only comment he made concerning their financial difference was that his house was probably ‘a bit smaller than you’re used to.’ Harry said that it was fine, because it was. His family hadn’t exactly been rich, and as a kid his house hadn’t been much bigger than Niall’s.

 

It was about nine am when Zayn arrived, immediately crowding into Niall’s personal space. It made Harry smile to see them, cute as they were, but there was a melancholy ache in his heart, a loneliness that stemmed from a lack of freedom to fall in love.

 

“D’you mind?” Zayn asked early on, although it seemed to take him a moment to realise that he was sprawled across Niall’s lap.

 

“Oh, no,” Harry said quickly. “How long have you been together, then?”

 

Niall thought for a moment, and then inspiration seemed to hit him. “Didn’t we get together after Louis told us that if we didn’t stop acting like a couple all the damn time, he’d stick our tongues down each other’s throats?”

 

“Please, for the love of God, do not tell me we owe our entire relationship to Louis,” Zayn groaned dramatically.

 

“Um,” Niall replied. “Sorry?”

 

Ironically, that was when they heard the knock on the door. “Talk of the devil,” Zayn muttered. “Ni, I bet you £20 that’s Lou.”

 

“Nope, no way am I taking you up on that bet.”

 

“Damn it. It was hoping for a bit of easy cash,” Zayn said, getting up. “Harry, if he tries to kiss you, don’t be alarmed, and don’t take out a restraining order. He means well, I swear.” He left the room, and Niall turned to him, face serious.

 

“I know you’ve got girls throwing themselves at you all the time, and this probably isn’t very different, but let him down easy, yeah? He’s a bit…fragile.”

Harry smiled and nodded.

 

***

 

Louis was herded into the living room he knew so well, only now there was a god-on-earth sat on one of the worn felt sofas. Niall had been left the house after the death of his uncle a few years ago, and it was a lot bigger than any property his friends could ever hope of possessing. It almost took Louis’ breath away, seeing the man he idolized spread over an armchair haphazardly, looking as if he’d just stepped out of a poster and into Louis’ life.

 

Playing it cool flew out of the window and died a horrible death there.

 

“H-Hi,” Louis said, and Harry turned around. Trying not to feel as though he was being scrutinized, Louis moved to join Niall on the larger sofa.

 

“Hello,” Harry replied, smiling and showing his dimples. Louis felt slightly faint, but he pasted an answering bright smile onto his face, passing Niall the Justin Bieber CD with a few reprimanding words about how unless there was a song about the satisfaction earned from punching a paparazzi in the face, he wasn’t going to listen to the damn album. His voice might have squeaked in parts, but overall he was pleased with his effort.

 

“Oh, and also, I owe you an apology, Harry Styles,” he continued nervously, turning so that he could look the man in the eye. Or forehead, whichever worked.

 

“Um, why?” Harry inquired, bemused. “Have we met?”

 

“Yes, actually. Once, when you were, like, six. And I was a little bastard to you and I hope you can forgive me even if you don’t remember it.”

 

“OhmyGod,” Harry gasped, blushing beet red. “You’re Louis Tomlinson?” Louis was extremely pleased when Harry’s voice hitched, even if he had no idea why. But, like, he could work with this.

 

“Um, the one and only,” Louis replied, suddenly aware of Niall and Zayn’s curious looks.

 

“For the record, I didn’t think you were an asshole,” Harry breathed.

 

“That’s okay; you were six,” Louis pointed out. “I’m sorta surprised you remember me at all, to be honest.”

 

“Oh God, I had a crush on you that lasted two years,” Harry mumbled. “I would draw pictures of our wedding. I’m afraid you were in the dress.” Niall snickered. Louis glared. “I think I still have them,” he added thoughtfully.

 

“Please, please email them to me,” Niall begged, looking as though Christmas had come early.

 

Meanwhile, Harry looked slightly mortified, so Louis took it on himself to eradicate the embarrassment by throwing himself into the pit of shame. This was a fine example of how Louis’ logic worked in situations such as these.

 

“Don’t worry; I’ve had a crush on you for way longer,” he confessed. “I’ve fancied you since you were on The X Factor.”

 

“He’s not kidding,” Zayn interjected. “The amount of money that was spent on votes for you might amount to what you have earned in your entire career. And that’s not just Louis’ money, either. He roped us in, too. And, like, the whole town.  How, I will never know.”

 

“Oh, shut up,” Louis dismissed him. “Anyway, what are we watching?”

 

“Well, Harry wants Titanic, and I want Batman,” Niall replied. “Any thoughts, Lou? Bearing in mind that if you choose Titanic, I will revoke your masculinity forever.”

 

“How about both?” Louis suggested. “We can make it into a sleepover!”

 

***

 

None of them were quite sure how they’d gravitated into this position. In retrospect, some of their excuses were truly flimsy, but no one minded too much.

 

“There are only two blankets,” Louis had announced, when he’d returned from poking around upstairs. “Me and Harry can share one, and you lover boys can share the other one. But no funny business under there!” he warned, chucking the duvet towards Niall and Zayn.

 

“We’re not gonna do anything!” Niall protested.

 

“That means hand stuff,” Louis murmured to Harry, winking. Harry giggled in response, curling in on himself to make room for Louis on the armchair. They snuggled up next to each other, Louis snagging a bowl of popcorn and chucking a few pieces in Zayn and Niall’s direction. They’d decided to each choose a film, and they’d phoned Liam, asking him to join them.

 

“So, Harry chose Titanic, Liam claimed Batman, Niall wants to watch The Avengers—even though I’ve been forced to watch it four times already this month—I want to watch Star Trek, and Louis decided on all eight Harry Potter movies, of which we are only going to watch one. Any objections?” Zayn asked, then, without pausing: “Good. Let’s get on with it then.” He grabbed the Titanic DVD that Niall claimed he had no knowledge of ever buying and slotted it into the player.

 

A few hours later, and Harry was sniffling into Louis’ green jumper (he’d made it onto Louis’ lap around the time Jack and Rose started kissing) and Louis was stroking his fingers through the curly locks in a comforting gesture.

 

Harry would have been embarrassed, but the pressure of Louis’ fingers against his hair was so soothing that he could feel the sobs dying down almost instantaneously. Louis’ other hand rubbed his back in small circles, and even though Harry knew that the other boy was probably trying not to laugh, it was…nice. He didn’t feel alone.

 

When the film ended and Zayn had to go and get a pack of tissues for Harry’s benefit (attempting valiantly not to laugh when he did) Liam arrived, almost as though he’d been waiting for the end of the film and someone had texted him to inform him that ‘the coast was clear’. (They checked Niall’s phone when he went to the toilet. That was indeed the case.) Liam had brought his Batman box set, and it was hotly debated which one they watch. Harry, who had never seen any of them (“Are you kidding me!” Niall exclaimed at this revelation. “Dude, everyone’s seen Batman.”) insisted that they should watch the first one, and pretty much everyone else wanted him to see The Joker in action.

 

It was mid afternoon by the time they finished watching The Dark Knight (Harry had lost the fight) and so far everyone had tactfully refrained from the complete lack of personal space being displayed between Harry and Louis. In their (admittedly weak) defense, they only had the space of an armchair, while Niall, Zayn and Liam were sharing the longer, four-seater sofa. Of course, the solution could have been to give Liam the armchair to himself, but…Harry really liked how close he was to Louis, and how the man’s aftershave smelled. It smelled like home, as if that was possible.

 

“How long are you in Doncaster?” Louis asked casually, just as the title credits for The Avengers were scrolling across the screen.

 

“I’m not sure,” Harry replied. “Probably only a week.”

 

Louis stiffened so briefly that Harry might have imagined it, but then they were back to being curled up around each other, limbs tangling and boundaries abandoned. Liam flashed a curious look in their direction, but it was Zayn who finally said something.

 

“Sheesh, guys, would either of you like some, I don’t know, personal space? It’s been like six hours.”

 

Harry hesitated, and Louis answered for him. “I’m fine if Hazza’s fine,” he grinned, but Harry could feel the slight hint of uncertainty in his tone. They hadn’t discussed this; they’d just fallen into a cramped space and had clung to one another. Harry wasn’t sure of himself, either; he wondered if Louis could possibly like him in ‘that’ way, after getting to know him. What if he wasn’t living up to the expectations set by his celebrity image?

 

“I’m fine,” he responded hastily, snuggling impossibly closer. “More than fine,” he whispered, only for Louis’ ears.

 

***

 

Louis got bored about halfway through The Avengers (not because he didn’t like the movie, but because Liam and Niall’s combined obsession with superheroes meant that he could probably recite the script by heart) and so, for Harry’s benefit, he started a monologue about which Avenger each person in the room was.

 

“Zayn is Black Widow, obviously, because he would make an awesome girl, and that makes Niall Hawkeye… Liam is Captain America because he’s boring and no one likes him—”

 

“Hey!” Liam protested. “Captain America is fantastic!”

 

“Case in point,” Louis murmured. “And I’ll be Iron Man because of my totally lovable arrogance…”

 

“Lovable, yeah right,” Zayn snorted.

 

“And you can be The Hulk,” Louis finished, glaring at Zayn, but addressing Harry. “I reckon you’d be the best-looking in green.”

 

Harry blushed cutely and Louis took that as a success, all ready to lapse back into silence, until Niall spoke.

 

“Who’s Thor, then?” he asked.

 

“Your mum,” Louis replied wearily. “Honestly, Niall, you should know better.”

 

Louis noticed that Harry didn’t stop smiling until the end of the movie (which he put down to his hilariousness, because even Zayn choked up a little at Tony’s “death”.) And he also noticed a warm, delighted feeling in his own chest, but it didn’t—couldn’t—mean anything. Because Louis was smart enough to know that love and infatuation are different things entirely, and that you don’t just fall in love with a celebrity you’ve know for a few hours.

 

But…

 

***

 

Niall broke out a bottle of wine after the fourth film (Star Trek—Harry and Louis had stopped even pretending to watch) ended (because they were classy like that, even if they were swigging from the bottle) and they shouldn’t have gotten drunk, because there were five of them, but Liam and Zayn gave some bullshit excuses for abstaining, and Niall drank a whole lot less than he normally would, and somehow Louis and Harry ended up tipsy and affectionate, sucking small love bites onto each other’s necks and murmuring sleepy compliments: “You’re pretty,” “I like your eyes.”

 

Eventually, around the time when Zayn was miming vomiting and Niall was threatening to take pictures for their wedding album, they decided that maybe it was time to go to sleep. It was midnight by this point, and Zayn and Niall immediately ran upstairs to have a battle royale over who would get to sleep in Niall’s single bed. Everyone knew that they would end up sharing.

 

“I’m gonna head up,” Liam announced, after a safe amount of time had passed.

 

“We’ll catch up with you,” Louis slurred, content to stay where he was for the time being. Liam nodded and retreated, leaving Louis and Harry alone. It was dark outside, and neither of them bothered to turn on the light, relying on the faint glow from the hallway. Harry was cross-legged on the floor, while Louis was stretched out on the couch. They looked at each other in silence for a few minutes, until Harry spoke.

 

“I get drunk a lot,” he said. “I feel so numb most of the time. Because people are controlling my life for me…I think I’m not supposed to feel. And it’s scary. So when I want to feel again, I drink. Sometimes I pass out.”

 

Suddenly, Louis’ heart was beating too fast and he was hyper-aware of the blood thrumming through his veins. There was a light-headed sensation washing over him, and it took him a moment to croak out the words he needed to say to the wonderful, beautiful boy in front of him.

 

“Come here.”

 

The thing with Louis was, he made shallow, superficial friends extremely easily. But he’d never had someone confide in him like this; he almost didn’t know how to deal with it. It wasn’t that it was a deliberate thing, that he pushed people away, but no one ever seemed to take him seriously enough to tell him their secrets. He joked around too much, maybe.

 

Harry was different. Harry was important.

 

The curly-haired boy stood up and cautiously made his way over to where Louis was still lying down on the sofa, trying to calm his breathing. He felt Harry’s presence almost physically,  
standing hesitantly next to him.

 

“No, come _here_ ,” he repeated, opening his arms slightly. And Harry was heavy, and he was taller than Louis, but he fit in Louis’ arms like he was meant to, curling up and pressing his cheek into Louis’ neck. Louis heard the quiet sniff, and felt the droplet of Harry’s tear on his collarbone. It was like that single drop of water sliced through his skin, and he felt Harry’s pain as vividly as if it was his own. Still, there were no words.

 

Words were not needed.

 

***

 

It was so unexpectedly intimate that Harry was left a little astonished, because he was so used to people wanting to sleep with him, but not at all accustomed to people wanting to _sleep_ with him. Louis’ breath had slowed down, and Harry could feel the comforting rise and fall of his stomach against his back, and he was struck by the idea of how right this felt. Like it was meant to be, or some similarly embarrassing sentiment.

 

He wasn’t sure how to express in words what he felt for Louis, already. There was a safety that accompanied the man’s touch that Harry could barely comprehend, let alone explain—and although sexual attraction was certainly there, it never threatened to overwhelm the more innocent feelings of…what?  Harry didn’t know.

 

He drifted in and out of sleep for hours, until, after an indefinable amount of time had passed, the hallway light snapped on again and Liam poked his head around the door. Harry lifted his head and smiled gently.

 

“You okay?” Liam whispered. “He won’t mind if you wake him up. He must be pretty uncomfortable, as pillows go.”

 

“I’m fine,” Harry murmured.

 

And admittedly, it was not the most comfortable bed that Harry had ever slept on (although he had an unfair advantage in that respect, having stayed in five star hotels and the like) but Louis’ chest was the first one where he had felt like he belonged.

 

So he stayed.

 

When woke up in the bright light of the British summer morning, he felt fingers twisting through his hair, and had to suppress the shudder that accompanied the action. His hair had always been sensitive, and a small noise slipped past his lips before he could stop it. Heat flooded to his skin, and when he heard the amused chuckle behind him, the embarrassment inexplicably faded.

 

“Morning,” Louis muttered in his ear, voice thick with sleep.

 

Harry murmured something incomprehensible in reply, eliciting another laugh from his companion.

 

“You’re gonna have to get up, Hazza. I need to go to the loo.”

 

“No one says ‘loo’ in ‘Merica,” Harry commented.

 

“Yeah, well we’re all posh twats over here,” Louis replied. “Now shift over. Now is not the time to go all diva on me.”

 

Harry obediently rolled to the side, landing heavily on the floor. Louis giggled delightedly at his (minimal) pain and stepped over him, before skipping in the direction of the bathroom.

 

“I hate morning people!” Harry called after him.

 

In the brief window of aloneness, he started thinking about the rest of the week. Could he spend all of the remaining time with Louis? Or should he avoid the boy, make the inevitable separation easier? No solution presented itself, and Harry, ever curious, wanted to see where this venture would take him. He hadn’t felt this happy in a long time; nothing really compared to the joy of new love.     

     

Wait, was _that_ what this was?

 

The thing was, Harry didn’t know. He’d never had a boyfriend, or a girlfriend.  He’d certainly never been in anything he would define as ‘love’. But what he felt for Louis was definitely the strongest he’d ever felt for anyone who wasn’t his family. A voice in his head laughed sarcastically at his mental declarations, though, assuring him that this was just a crush, that it would fade in a few weeks, that he couldn’t trust his own heart.

 

He wanted answers but was scared to get them. And when he thought about it, where was his evidence that Louis felt anything for him, too?

 

No. He’d seen enough fakers in his life to know when someone was genuine. And Louis, Louis lived for the moment; he said things one moment and contradicted them the next, but he always said what he thought, and he never took it back. He lived for experiences and fun, but he was so honest and down-to-earth that Harry knew with absolute certainty that he cared. If anything, that had been evidenced by his reaction to Harry’s revelation last night.

 

Basically, his mind was travelling in circles, dizzying him. It was impossible for him to say anything for certain while he still felt so confused.

 

“Haz?”

 

He looked up, abruptly realizing that he was still on the floor, where he’d fallen.

 

Oh.

 

“Uh, sorry,” he said, getting to his feet hastily.

 

“Did you want any breakfast?” Louis asked. “We’ve got cereal, and toast…or we’ve got pizza.”

 

“I’m gonna go for the toast,” Harry laughed. “Please.”

 

“You’re missing out,” Louis warned lightly. “Okay, come on then.” He took Harry by the hand and pulled him into the kitchen, where there was already a hum from the microwave.

 

“Brown or white bread?”

 

“I…don’t mind. Either?”

 

Louis looked at him for a moment, before saying: “Worst. Diva. _Ever_. Then again, we’ve only got white so maybe that’s a good thing.”

 

With Louis there, next to him, with their hands still touching even though it had long since stopped being necessary, Harry felt certain that if it wasn’t love, it was something extremely similar.

 

***

 

Liam was the next to trudge down to the kitchen, bright and chirpy even though Harry was on his third coffee and _still_ had that (adorable) glazed over look in his eyes. Louis was biting into his third slice of pizza (he had a natural aversion to all breakfast foods. Except bacon. But it was too early for bacon, which kind of ruined the whole concept, if you asked him).

 

He explained this phenomenon to Harry while Liam was on the phone to his girlfriend (who apparently didn’t mind being woken up this early, so in love was she) muttering but within earshot of the other two boys, so they could absolutely hear the “I need you to say something heterosexual, quick. I’m drowning in all the gay!” It was said in good humour, though, so Louis didn’t take offence. Liam sometimes had problems with being the only straight one in their group (which was understandable, really, because Louis generally made a point of being as camp as was humanly possible, and Niall and Zayn spent a large portion of their time with very little concept of how much PDA could possibly be survived by an onlooker).

 

Sometime during this, Zayn and Niall stumbled—loudly—down the stairs, and Niall yelled “Someone get me some coffee—STAT!” Louis laughed and busied himself with the kettle, pouring out mugs for himself, Harry, Niall and Zayn, and leaving Liam out because no one who looked that awake before midday deserved caffeine.

 

“So, what are we doing today?” Niall queried, once he was done with the drink that contained, in all honesty, more sugar than coffee.

 

“I can’t spend another day cooped up in here,” Zayn chipped in.

 

“Well, Haz, what do you want to do?” Louis asked, since Harry was the guest and all (Louis was totally known for his impeccable politeness).

 

“I-I don’t know,” Harry mumbled. “Anything.”

 

“Well, that’s no use to us at all.” Louis grinned at the boy affectionately, before making a quick decision. “We’ll go out to the park, yeah? Relive our childhood. I don’t reckon Hazza gets an awful lot of opportunities to do that.”

 

“Okay, but everyone wears non-threatening clothes and hides their tattoos,” Zayn said.

 

“So you’ll be head-to-toe covered, then?” Louis teased, tracing a finger over the exposed ‘ZAP’ on his friend’s arm and slapping it lightly.

 

***

 

Harry and Louis went up to the guest bedroom, where Harry’s suitcase was, and started rifling through it for appropriate clothing. It mostly consisted of ratty t-shirts and obscenely skinny jeans, neither of which were ideal options, but Louis picked out an outfit for Harry featuring a fedora and a ‘Love Is Equal’ t-shirt (two of Harry’s favourites, which made him feel mushy inside again).

 

Then Louis asked if he could borrow some things to wear, because he couldn’t be bothered to go back home (even though Harry suspected that Niall’s clothes would fit a bit better) and Harry handed him a grey sweater that was baggy on _him_ , so it would, presumably, dwarf Louis. Harry tried not to think about how cute he found the idea of Louis in it to be, with the sleeves rolled up and the hem hanging down to the tops of his thighs. Then he relented slightly and chose skinny jeans that were slightly too small for him. They awkwardly separated with the bundles in their arms, heading for different bathrooms to wash up and get dressed.

 

Half an hour later, seeing Louis in the outfit that swallowed him up, making him look even more elfin and pixie-like, Harry couldn’t resist any more. He bent down, pressing such a quick kiss to Louis’ lips that the contact was barely even there, but it was unmistakable, and sent energy thrumming through his blood. When he drew back, and Louis’ eyes fluttered open again, they simply stared at each other for a few moments, until Louis wordlessly grabbed Harry’s hand and tugged him downstairs, where the other boys were waiting.

 

“What took you so long?” Zayn grumbled, before seeming to think better of the question, holding up his hand. “No, wait, I didn’t ask that. I really, _really_ don’t want to know.”

 

“Honestly, Zayn,” Louis giggled. “You have such a dirty mind.”

 

“And you have the same damn look on your face you had back in school, when you and Nick came out of that changing room with your shirts untucked and your hair all over the place,” Zayn countered.

 

“Oh, come _on._ Back in school, you and Perrie were at it like rabbits,” Louis smirked. Niall winced, slightly, and Harry saw Louis’ moment of realization that he’d gone too far. “Shit, sorry!” he apologized quickly.

 

“Never mind,” Liam cut in. “C’mon, guys, let’s go.”

 

They headed out of the door in a slightly subdued fashion, walking down the street mutely until Zayn broke the silence.

 

“For God’s sake, people. It’s not a crime to mention someone’s ex in front of their boyfriend! There must be something more interesting to do than just stare at our shoes!”

 

Liam said: “Does anyone want to meet Danielle?”

 

There were three ‘yes’s and one ‘no’. Unsurprisingly, it was Louis who said no.

 

Then: “I thought you broke up with Danielle?”

 

“Louis, sometimes I wish you’d be interested in a love life that isn’t your own,” Liam sighed.

 

“Now, that’s not fair,” Louis returned, putting his hands on his hips and stopping in the middle of the path. Harry almost bumped into him. Then he dedicated his energies to silently willing Louis into stamping his foot. “I was not interested in my own love life, either. So you really can’t blame me for any ignorance when it comes to love lives.”

 

“’Was’?” Niall inquired innocently.

 

Louis apparently realized his mistake, rectifying his statement immediately. Harry tried not to feel disappointed.

 

“I have never, and will never, be interested in mine or anyone else’s love life.” Louis stamped his foot, apparently to create emphasis. Harry thanked whatever deity was out there for answering his prayers, and then giggled. In a manly way.

 

Louis turned and winked at him.

 

Sighing heavily, Liam lowered his face into his palms. “I feel like I’m being over shadowed in coupledom by people who aren’t even a couple,” he complained.

 

“Hey, how do you know me and Harry aren’t a couple?’ Louis demanded, striding forward again. “For all you know, we’ve been secretly dating for the past eight years, and you’re only just finding out about it now.”

 

“That, or you could admit to shagging in my bathroom this morning,” Niall interjected.

 

“We did not!” Harry squeaked.

 

***

 

They got to the park, and Liam and Zayn went to sit menacingly on the swings, while Niall attempted the monkey bars, and Louis said that he wanted to go down the slide on Harry’s lap.

 

None of these ventures ended very well.

 

Firstly, Liam didn’t know the meaning of the word menacing, apparently, and decided to try to swing as high as he could. His phone fell out of his pocket and smashed, which would have been funny if he didn’t look like someone had killed his mother. Seriously. There were tears.

 

Zayn actually managed the whole ‘menacing’ thing (although Louis was personally of the opinion that menacing and brooding were two very different things, and that Zayn was more of the latter) but he made a little girl cry and immediately repented, doing his wide-eyed irresistibly beautiful thing, and by the end they were all pretty sure that the six year old wanted to marry him more than run away screaming. That was, of course, until a mysterious object fell from the sky and shattered right next to her, leading to more screams. This was, of course, Liam’s phone.

 

Over on the monkey bars, Niall was trying to hang upside down, but one leg managed to slip off, and he was left dangling by one leg, getting more and more red in the face and practically begging for someone to help him. Louis was stubbornly preventing anyone from getting within ten metres of him, stating that “when are we ever going to get to see anything this hilarious again?”

 

The answer to that question was five minutes later, when Liam tackled Louis and Zayn ran forward to save Niall from his impending fall. Niall then insisted on calling Zayn “my hero”, and all in all, even Louis had to admit that this was the best outcome they could have hoped for.

 

The final course of action ended in Louis and Harry being sprawled on top of each other, limbs twisted painfully, at the bottom of the slide. They concluded that this would be one of the things they laughed about later, if Liam, Zayn and Niall’s hysterics were anything to go by.

 

***

 

When they got back to Niall’s house, Harry immediately headed towards to the freezer, to hand out icy packets to anyone who had sustained an injury whilst at the park. This included everyone.

 

(After the first few unsuccessful incidents, no one had learned their lesson. Niall had tried going down the slide backwards, and then, after he failed, Louis had attempted to show that it could, in fact, be done—Harry had found the girly scream extremely cute, for some reason—Liam had gone back onto the swings after setting his phone carefully down on a grassy bank, and had tried to jump off from his highest ascent and Zayn had been relaxing peacefully next to Liam’s phone when Louis had jumped on him.)

 

Overall, they shouldn’t have been smiling, but Harry, at least, couldn’t keep the grin off his face. Louis’ continual excitement was infectious, and there was even a bemused gleam in Zayn’s eyes.

 

“What are we gonna do for lunch?” Harry asked, pressing the bag of peas to his hip.

 

“Well, I don’t know about these idiots,” Louis replied, in a shaking voice, “but I would like to ask you out, Harold Styles. On a date. Um.”

 

Harry almost fell over (but he was still feeling a bit dizzy from managing to knock his head on one of those bars that was not designed for 5ft.11 men to try and duck under) but he somehow managed to say ‘yes’ without jumping up and down and screeching unattractively. As it was, a little squeak left his lips before he could help it.

 

“Great,” Louis said. “Let’s go.” He held out his hand for Harry, and Harry (hoping his palm didn’t inexplicably start sweating) deposited his bag of peas on the counter and took the proffered hand. “Later, losers!” Louis called as they left the room. And, just like that, Harry relaxed and started laughing. It felt natural to have Louis’ hand in his, just as natural as it had felt curling up against him or kissing him.

 

And that was when he decided that he would do anything in his power to keep Louis by his side for as long as he could.

 

***

 

Louis didn’t do ‘nervous’ well. He’d been nervous when he’d met Harry for the first time, but this was on whole new levels of crippling fear. This date _had_ to go well. If it didn’t, Louis might be swallowed by a hole of misery, never to return again.

 

Louis did not do ‘nervous’ well.

 

But, he was good at working under pressure, and there was a _lot_ of pressure riding on this. For him, at least. So, he took Harry Styles, world-famous pop-star millionaire, to McDonald’s.

 

Still, Harry’s face lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning, so he figured he was doing something right. Even if that something was the only affordable (for him, at least) restaurant within walking distance of Niall’s house. He briefly wondered how many times Harry had been to McDonald’s (or any fast food establishment) in the past few years. Judging by the look on Harry’s face, not very many.

 

“Order whatever you like,” Louis offered, although in truth he only had twenty pounds left and _hated_ using his credit card. Debt was a horrible, horrible thing, and Louis never wanted to get into it…more than he already was.

 

He was pretty sure it was impossible to spend more than twenty pounds on two people in McDonald’s, though.

 

“So,” Louis said, when they were sat down, and Harry was examining each chicken nugget with something like awe, “when was the last time you came somewhere like this?”

 

“Uh,” Harry replied. “I have to stay in shape for photo shoots—” Louis was very much aware of this. “—so, I think, before I went on The X Factor.”

 

“That’s three years,” Louis said blankly.

 

“Yes.”

 

“You haven’t eaten fast food in _three years_.”

 

“Um. No?”

 

“Oh my God, Harry,” Louis said, suddenly devious. “This holiday, we are gonna have _fun_.”

 

***

 

Louis wrote down his plan on the napkin, and it basically involved going to every fast food restaurant in Doncaster within six days. It was sort of genius, actually, because Louis apparently knew the calorific intake of each one by heart, and therefore they didn’t actually waver from Harry’s diet (by much).

 

“So, Dominoes for dinner, then?” Louis confirmed, and Harry just nodded. He’d forgotten how much salt was on these chips. It was _glorious._

 

“Sounds good,” he said, sipping his milkshake. It tasted of multiple heart attacks and rainbows. Wonderful.

 

“We’ll eat that with the guys, then,” Louis continued, inserting fourteen chips into his mouth at once. Harry made a mental note to ask to be taught that obviously essential life skill. “And then tomorrow…KFC or Burger King? KFC is superior in every way, but we’ll manage to do both either way.”

 

Harry consulted the crudely drawn calorie chart on the napkin. “Burger King,” he decided. “We’ll save KFC for a day when we aren’t going to a place called ‘Gourmet Cuisine’ in the evening. Please tell me that name is meant to be ironic.”

 

“Fine,” Louis replied. “But their chips taste like shit. And Gourmet Cuisine is _perfection._ If a little greasy.”

 

“My nutritionist is gonna kill me,” Harry said mournfully.

 

“See, that’s the problem,” Louis countered. “You have a _nutritionist._ No one under the age of forty has any business with a nutritionist. Especially if they’re as skinny as you already.”

 

“I’m not skinny!” Harry replied self-consciously, wrapping his arms around his torso.

 

“I didn’t mean it like that. Slender. Fit. Athletic. Which d’you want?”

 

“I think I’ll take slender.”

 

“Good choice.”

 

Harry chewed his last chip thoughtfully, before saying what had been on his mind the whole time they’d been there.

 

“This doesn’t feel like a date.”

 

“Oh, thanks,” Louis said sarcastically. “Just for that, you’re paying.”

 

“Not much of a threat,” Harry pointed out. “I just meant…dates are uncomfortable, and weird, and most of the time you’re trying not to look at each other…”

 

“How many dates have you been on?” Louis laughed.

 

“Not many good ones, apparently.”

 

“So, really, what you just said was that this has been a _good_ date.”

 

“I suppose so, yes.”

 

“OH MY GOD!” The shrill shriek pierced Harry’s ears, and it definitely didn’t come from Louis. He _knew_ that scream. Shit.

 

“I’m sorry,” he muttered quickly to Louis, and then managed the first words of his frantic prayer (“please, tell me that teenage girl just won the lottery”) because her boobs were in front of his face and he could hear the overly loud declaration of:

 

“You’re Harry Styles!”

 

He hated that. That stupid fucking statement. It was his name! It was not a brand; it was not an idol. But the way she said it showed that she thought it was. He wasn’t human to her.

 

That was the difference in fans, he thought. Louis had been a fan, he knew. But Louis’ first word had been “hi”. Nervous, yes, but he had seen Harry as a human being. And now, Louis barely even referred to Harry by that damn name. It was affectionate nicknames: Haz, Hazza, Harold… Even when he called him Harry, it was different. The lilt to his accent turned it into something special (“Harreh”) and that was nice. But those nicknames, they distinguished him as something more than his celebrity image.

 

The difference, basically, was that Louis had tried, from the moment he’d laid eyes on Harry, to separate the media-image Harry from the real one. Louis was something rare, and that was why Harry had fallen in love with him.

 

But now they were on their first date, and there was this girl to deal with. Harry wished she’d remove her breasts from the general area around his face, because she looked to be around thirteen and he’d rather not be arrested. Louis was looking on with something between amusement and frustration, and Harry wished that she would _go away._ Now.

 

Okay, so he owed his fame to his fans. But he’d given them his music, and his answers to generic questions; he’d given them the best of his charisma and his face on their walls. They could have that. What they couldn’t have was interrupting him on dates, and propositioning him before they even got to know him. Well, he supposed this girl didn’t know it was a date. However, Harry had just been building up the nerve to reach for Louis’ hand over the table, so, like. The interruption was just really, _really_ inconvenient.

 

“What do you want me to sign, darling?” he said smoothly, putting on his best charming smile.

 

“My bra,” the _thirteen year old girl_ asked cheekily.

 

“Uh, no,” Harry said, sort of disgusted by the proposition. “Something else, maybe?”

 

In the end, a blurry picture on a camera phone and an autograph on a napkin was all it took to get her to leave. Harry kept glancing nervously at Louis, but the man just ate his burger with his pinkies up, and wiggled them at Harry whenever he looked over. Harry decided that by the end of the week he might propose if Louis kept this up. The thought was, weirdly, not that scary.

 

Eventually, the girl was gone.

 

Harry loved his fans, he really did, but he also loved his privacy. At public events they could throw themselves at him all they liked, but this was just a little too much.

 

“Sorry,” he repeated to Louis, when he was sat back down and his last few chips were stone cold.

 

“It’s fine,” Louis replied. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

 

“I wasn’t…okay, fine, I was a little angry,” Harry admitted. “I just—I don’t want you to feel like my attention is split between you and some fan. I’m so thankful to my fans for what they’ve done for me, but I really wanted this date to be perfect.”

 

“Nothing’s perfect, Haz,” Louis said gently. “C’mon. Let’s make you forget about this…”

 

***

 

Louis didn’t mind, really. In other life, he might have been that girl. He didn’t like to think so, but Harry had the ability to make him a little crazy. In a different world, he might have been intruding on Harry’s date, just for the chance to have a few words spoken to him—however sharply.

 

That girl wasn’t lucky enough to have met Harry, to have the opportunity to really get to know him. Louis had been granted that privilege, and he wasn’t one to believe that it was somehow due to his own assets.

 

So, Louis didn’t care that the girl had come and propositioned Harry in the middle of McDonald’s on a date that was meant to be extraordinary. All he cared about right now was Harry’s happiness—and Harry wasn’t happy. His lips were downturned and his hands kept winding around each other as Louis deposited the contents of their tray into one of the bins. Having worked in a fast food chain (for only a few weeks, but still) he knew how annoying it was when customers just left their shit on the tables, so he always made a point of tidying away, if only partially.

 

Then he reached cautiously for Harry’s hand (wondering if he would take it, if he would want to be seen) and, when Harry’s light grip was wrapped around his palm, he tugged them out of the restaurant, around the corner and into a little thicket of trees.

 

The coverage was light at best: a few sparse tree trunks bursting bravely from dry soil and doing their best to straggle upwards into the light. It didn’t really do a great job of hiding them from anyone who happened to pass (or drive—they were backed onto a road) by, but it gave that illusion, and hopefully no one would suddenly decide to wander behind the car park in their never-ending quest to search for celebrities in potentially embarrassing situations.

 

Louis was rather proud of his choice of location.

 

Harry looked nervous, but determined, and he—having the size advantage—pushed Louis ever so gently back against one of the tree trunks. Louis, glad that Harry had interpreted his intentions correctly, reached up on his tiptoes and claimed Harry’s mouth with his own. Harry was hesitant, seemed to not know what to do with his hands (or even his mouth, for that matter) so Louis took control, fastening his hand in Harry’s curls and pulling at the hair there sharply, scratching his nails against the Harry’s scalp. He was entirely unprepared for the gasp that Harry gave at that, but took advantage of the parted mouth, swiping his tongue against Harry’s lower lip and pulling the boy closer. He could feel the bark of the tree, rough against his back.

 

Contrary to his words from just a few short minutes ago, it was perfect.

 

***

 

Harry had been kissed before, but never like this. His first kiss had been with a shy girl, her brown hair showing hints of ginger in the sunshine, her brown eyes wide and the colour of melting chocolate. He had seen her, in front of him in maths, and he had thought that he would like to kiss her. That was what you _did_ , when you thought a girl was beautiful. But thinking about it and doing it were two very different things, he discovered. They were both nervous, and neither of them were willing to take it further than a press of mouths against mouths. There was no chemistry or sparking behind his eyelids. It felt _wrong_.

 

He had been kissed _hard_ , by a footballer player who desperately wanted not to be gay—hard enough to bruise his mouth, and he’d been shoved away afterwards. That had felt wrong, too.

 

And he’d kissed a boy with raven black hair flopping over one eye, and while that had been better, there’d never been a kiss that he could just sink into, where he could know that the other person was looking after him, that the other person would know that his submissiveness wasn’t a sign of disinterest or apathy.

 

In short, he’d never had a kiss like his one with Louis.

 

After The X Factor, he’d given up on dating. His publicist said that it wasn’t advisable, and he believed her. He hadn’t really wanted to. That was, obviously, before he met Louis. The boy had wreaked so much havoc in Harry’s life already, and he didn’t even know it.

 

As if Louis sensed that his mind was wandering, there were abruptly cool fingers under the hem of his shirt, cooling the sweat that had gathered from the summer heat, and from—well—making out against a tree. He whimpered, and gave himself over entirely to the sensations.

 

Endless minutes later, they resurfaced, and Harry could only stare at the brightness of Louis’ blue, blue eyes, and the way the breath gushed out of his lips in little pants, and at the way his olive skin was flushed in clashing shades of pink. The stands of his fringe were sticking to his forehead, and he was grinning lopsidedly.

 

“Maybe the jumper wasn’t such a good idea,” he mentioned casually, tugging at the fabric.

 

“Um, no. The jumper was a _very_ good idea,” Harry said flirtily. He got an eye roll, but Louis also leaned back on the tree trunk for support at that precise moment, so Harry was going to count it as a success.

 

***

 

The next few days progressed in much the same fashion. Harry often said that he felt like his stomach was going to burst from all the junk food, but when Louis threatened to take him out on a jog, he suddenly decided that if he could just lie back on the sofa and have someone else do all the work involved in kissing him, he would probably regain energy within five minutes.

 

By day three, they managed to perfect the ‘flipping-over-on-the-sofa-so-that-Harry’s-on-top’ manoeuvre, after several failed attempts that ended with Harry on the floor. Still, the ‘failures’ ended in Louis _joining_ him on the floor, and there was something infinitely exciting about making out there. There was more space than on the cramped sofa, for one thing.

 

They stopped trying to hide these sessions from the other boys after they confirmed that yes, their hard-ons got a little bit harder when one of the others walked in, and no, it wasn’t because they were hiding their burning attraction to Niall, who was, at the time, wearing a dress because Zayn dared him to. It was not wearing a dress in the flattering, sexy way; it was wearing a dress that had belonged to his great-aunt.

 

They never actually went further than kissing. It was a line that neither of them wanted to cross, for whatever reason. For Louis, it was that he knew that this wasn’t going last longer than the rest of the week. He liked the almost innocent quality to their relationship as it was. That was how he wanted Harry to remember it.

 

They didn’t talk about the future, because there wasn’t really one for them. Harry would be going back to New York—to his _life_ —as soon as this week was over. That was the truth of the matter, and Louis didn’t want to dwell on it any more than that. He wanted to give Harry the best time of his life while he was here, but accepted that it would end in tears.

 

It was on the sixth day of Harry’s stay that Louis realised, well and truly _realised_ , that he was in love with him.

 

It wasn’t that Harry did anything in particular to warrant this revelation. They were at Subway, which was the healthiest place on Louis’ napkin list, because it served sandwiches, and there was a bit of lettuce trailing from Harry’s mouth, and tiny drop of sandwich sauce on his nose, and Louis knew.

 

He knew that he’d felt this since their first night together. Since he had seen Harry for who he really was: a scared little boy, thrust into a world of shimmering, too-bright lights, and pressure that never let up.

 

And Louis had never been good at keeping things to himself.

 

“I’m in love with you,” he blurted out.

 

“Oh,” Harry replied, eyes widening comically. “Well, good. I’m in love with you, as well.”

 

“So, that’s…yeah,” Louis said. Because it didn’t matter, and it mattered most of all. Harry was still leaving (oh God, _tomorrow_ ) and whether he loved Louis or not, he’d still have to go. But Harry _loved_ him. And that mattered more than any distance that might be in between them; it mattered more than an impending separation.

 

To love, and to be loved in return, is one of those feelings that threatens to overwhelm every negativity on the horizon.

 

It didn’t matter, yet it mattered most of all.

 

***

 

The picture hit Tumblr first. Then, it was on Twitter. Even Facebook got a hold of it after a mere ten minutes of its entry into the World Wide Web.

 

It was not an incriminating picture, but it was a picture that raised a lot of questions among fans. Who was the mysterious boy sat across from Harry Styles? Why was he looking at Harry Styles like that?

 

Mystery-boy couldn’t be Harry Styles’ _boyfriend_ , could he? No, that was ludicrous. They were just friends.

 

Another picture was released to the same Tumblr, but that was just two figures against a tree. They could be anyone. The fans hoped that they were anyone, _anyone_ other than Harry Styles and the boy who was wearing Harry Styles’ jumper.

 

Back in her office, Harry Styles’ publicist lowered her face into her hands and groaned.

 

***

 

When his phone rung, it was in the pocket of his jeans, and his jeans were rubbing in a very horizontal way against Louis’, and his phone was set to vibrate.

 

“Shit shit _SHIT!_ ”

 

“Sorry, Lou. Wait, did you just…?”

 

“Shut up, _shut up._ Answer it. _God._ ”

 

“H-Hello?” Harry answered.

 

“Who’s the boy?” his publicist’s clipped tones demanded.

 

“…Louis?”

 

“Do you _want_ to come out, Harry?”

 

“I don’t mind. I don’t think my sexuality is a matter of great importance, but you are firmly set against the public ever coming into contact with such _incriminating_ information.” He let the sarcasm and contempt drip from his tone.

 

“Fine. I don’t care anymore, Harry. You want to ruin your career? Go for it. Do an ‘It Gets Better’ video; go to gay pride rallies. I give up.” She sounded so dejected that Harry took pity.

 

“Eleanor, I’m sorry. But after this week is over, I want to keep seeing Louis, in the same way as if he were a girl I’d met on holiday. I don’t expect you to understand…”

 

“Harry, you think I don’t understand young love? I do. But this isn’t going to last. In a few weeks, you’ll be tired of him. No one understands what it’s like to be famous unless they’ve been there.”

 

“He may not understand what it’s like to be famous, but he understands what it’s like to be _me_ ,” Harry said firmly, and he hung up.

 

When he looked down, Louis was staring up at him (eyes a little glazed over) with unabashed _awe_ in his expression.

 

“You want to keep seeing me?”

 

“Of course I do, Louis,” Harry replied. “I love you.”

 

And then Louis surged up and kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him.

 

***

 

_Three months later_

“All I’m asking is for one duet! It doesn’t even have to be on the album; we could just sing it at a concert or something!”

 

Louis folded his arms against his chest and tried not to make it too obvious that he so tempted to just take Harry up on his offer, His boyfriend had been relentless ever since he’d heard Louis singing in the shower, and this was the third such argument in a single week.

 

“Harry, I’m not a _singer_. _You’re_ a singer. I can’t sing, let alone in front of thousands of people.”

 

“You’d have me, and I love your voice. I wouldn’t lie to you about it,” Harry murmured. “ _Please._ ”

 

“…What’s the song?”

 

“Use Somebody, by Kings of Leon.”

 

“Okay. But I only have one solo and we sing together in the chorus. And only one concert!”

 

“Wow, Louis, who would’ve known you’d ever pass up being the centre of attention,” Harry teased, but he looked delighted.

 

“Oh, shut up. I can still say ‘no’!”

 

“But you won’t. Because you love me.”

 

“You’re right,” Louis replied, and pressed a quick kiss to Harry’s lips. “And I sort of like the idea, anyway,” he mumbled.

 

“I knew it!”

 

“Whatever. I like it when you get all persuade-y.”

 

“Such poetry.”

 

***

 

They’d been trying to work out how Harry and Louis should come out for three months. At the moment, they were pretending to be old friends, which helped explain the part where they moved in together and were rarely seen apart. It was less useful for explaining the loving looks, and the constant need to be in contact with at least one part of each other.

 

Still, they’d gotten through without too many people suspecting, and now it was almost time for the grand reveal. Harry was prepared for the backlash, and Louis was prepared to not go on the Internet until Harry deemed it ‘safe’. They were ready.

 

The concert was the first one of Harry’s tour, and Louis knew that if he messed up, he’d never forgive himself. This was important to Harry—and by extension, it was important to Louis, too.

 

So he sucked it up and made his way onto stage at his cue, and he let the love he felt for Harry speak for itself, as he opened his mouth to sing the familiar tune.

 

He looked out into the crowd, not really believing how large it was, and he thought about how, a few months ago, he’d been one of them. One of the fans, desperate for just a glimpse of Harry Styles. Now he was just a boy who loved his Hazza more than anything else in the world.

 

And, by some miracle, his Hazza loved him, too.

 

It wasn’t that he thought about how lucky he was, to be the one that Harry had ‘chosen’. He thought about how lucky both he and Harry were to have found each other. He no longer saw Harry as the kind of inaccessible celebrity one stuck on their walls; he saw Harry, the wonderful human being who wasn’t fully awake until noon, who got scared when there was a thunderstorm, and who clung to Louis like a long-limbed monkey in bed, when they were drifting off to sleep, and didn’t let go until morning.

 

“… _Someone like you,_

_With all you know and how you speak,_

_Countless lovers undercover on the street,_

_You know that I could use somebody, yeah,_

_You know that I could use somebody, yeah…_

_Someone like you!_ ”

 

**Author's Note:**

> kudos/comment/bookmark please! <3  
> um okay wow so many people are reading this so my tumblr is oopshidaisy so yeah please follow me and message me and be my friend basically  
> love you all!


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